


Violets

by ZoeBug



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: (and by sweetheart I mean gardening enthusiast), Birthdays, F/M, Fluff, Levi being a closeted sweetheart, RivaMika Week, RivaMika Week 2014, Slight Awkwardness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-10
Updated: 2014-02-10
Packaged: 2018-01-11 08:49:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1171090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZoeBug/pseuds/ZoeBug
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for RivaMika Week - Day 2 - The Gift</p>
<p>Halting next to a bed of flowers, she turns her face up to him again.<br/>"Do you know what these ones are called?"<br/>"Of course I do. I know what they're all called. I planted them, didn't I?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Violets

**Author's Note:**

> RivaMika Week 2014  
> Day 2: The Gift - Mikasa's Birthday  
> Inspiration: Like birthstones, every month has a respective birthflower. The flower for February birthdays is the Violet
> 
> This sprouted (pun intended) from a headcanon I have that all the books on the shelves in Levi's office are full of pressed flowers.

The knock comes one day in the beginning of February, the cold of winter still clutching at the small castle of the Recon Corps headquarters.

Levi had taken refuge in the warmest room in the castle, although very few knew of it and those who did were largely uninterested, which suited him fine.

The greenhouse room was originally built to be used mainly by Hanji for growing herbs and plants for her to exploit in a variety of...well Levi didn't know exactly what she did in that so-called "laboratory" of hers, opening to the small enclosure by a door against the outside wall. How she'd convinced Erwin to construct a small room attached to the outside of the castle connecting to her laboratory was beyond him...as were most of the things Hanji did on a daily basis.

But as with the majority of new ideas Hanji came up with, she soon grew bored and moved on to the next.

And thus it was that the greenhouse eventually came to be used by the Corporal almost exclusively.

He used to come keep Hanji company as she watered and planted and weeded the overgrown tangles of exotic plants she had coaxed into existence. He would perch on the edge of a table, or slouch against a corner, always pretending to be attentive only to the books he would bring with him on those lazy afternoons when he wasn't running training drills with the new recruits, helping Erwin with his paperwork, or filing his own.

But he was paying attention, only to the small but weak bursts of color determinedly  poking through the dirt in the small flat trays in the corners, the ones Hanji had deemed too boring to be worthy of her attention.

Heading back to his office once the sky above them grew deep blue and Hanji declared it too dark to work - even she not wanting to risk candles around the plants - he would paw to the library of books looking for their proper names, their preferred amounts of sunlight and water, their natural growing seasons, and even social and allegorical meanings.

Returning the next time, unbeknownst to Hanji, he would subtly adjust their spacing, their distance from the sprinklers, their shading, slowly coaxing them toward vibrant health.

After a year, he'd completely commandeered the greenhouse, and in the end, he grew nothing but flowers.

Now, in the desolate barren landscape of the current month, it is a welcome sight, the room bursting with humid heat and lively growth.

"Corporal?"

The muffled voice accompanying the knock reaches him through the door. He sighs.

"What is it?"

"It's Cadet Ackerman, Sir." He feels his muscles tense involuntarily. Strong, talented, devoted Mikasa Ackerman.

He would be lying if he told himself in the past few months his inclination toward her hadn't changed. Normally a man of iron will and firm discipline, it was completely unexpected of him to be so jarred by a woman - especially an underling like Mikasa. Eyes trailing after her, his mind would wander to the glint of her pitch black hair in the sunlight and the dusky pink of her lips when he was alone in the greenhouse.

"Squad Leader Hanji said I could find you here," he hears her voice continue when there is no response.

He lets out a slow breath. Fucking Hanji. Sighing, he calls back.

"What is it, Ackerman?"

"May I...may I come in, Sir?"

Hesitating for a moment, he gruffly replies.

"Come in."

There is a slow, high pitched squeak of the door's hinges as it opens, accompanied by a gust of the colder air from inside the castle, and Mikasa materializes, clad in full uniform and maneuver gear, appearing to have just come from afternoon practice. She closes the door behind her, her movements subtly hesitant and stiff, and then stands, her back to the now closed door across the room from him, her eyes cautious.

He picks up a discarded and roughly worn guide to meanings of flowers from in front of him, trying to convince himself that he isn't trying desperately to not notice the subtle shift of her torso as she lifts her arm to brush a piece of hair from her eyes and that his heart isn't beating slightly faster as a result of being alone with her like this - away from all prying eyes or eavesdropping ears.

"Yes?"

"Sir, I was wondering if maybe..." her words trail off as she suddenly takes in the space around her - the warmth, the color, the life. "I didn't know we had a greenhouse."

"Not many people do," he replies flatly, noting how her eyes widen to absorb the details of the strait lines of flowers, the hanging baskets of drooping vines dotted with color, the neat rack of gardening tools and supplies against the far wall.

She hesitates for a minute before taking a step forward - not exactly towards him - but into the room, further into the sea of flowers.

"What...?" her fingers slightly brush the leaves of the closest plant and he feels goosebumps rise on his arms. "Did you do all this, Corporal?"

He finally flicks his eyes up from the page to meet hers, holding it in a suspended moment before nodding tightly, expression unchanging, and lowers his gaze back to the book.

"By yourself?" Her voice is full of wonder, astonishment...a hint of admiration.

He lowers the book to his lap, looking up at her again.

"You came here to ask me something, Ackerman, what was it?"

She looks dazed, as though just waking from sleep and not yet fully pulled from a dream.

"I...what? I'm sorry."

"What did you want?"

She takes another few steps forward, her hand hovering above the flowerbed, only just barely brushing the topmost petals and he can almost imagine them reaching toward her, extended up to her as if aching to return the touch.

"You really did all of this..." her voice sounds hushed and far away, seemingly not aware he had spoken. Halting next to a bed of pure white flowers with a flash of gold in the center, she turns her face up to him again. "Do you know what these ones are called?"

Despite his annoyance at being ignored, he almost instinctively snorts in indignation.

"Tch, of course I do. I know what they're all called. I planted them, didn't I?" He finally closes the book and, keeping it in one hand, pushes off the table he'd, until then, been leaning up against, walking towards her, and stands across from her.

 "Those," he points to the ones she had asked about a moment ago, "are called Mountain Wood Sorrels. In the wild they grow in the forest. They have an extensive root system so all the plants in one area are connected to each other - it's an evolutionary trait designed to protect them all from dying at once in the event a forest fire. Symbolically, they represent joy and happiness. And those orange ones next to your hand," he gestures with a jerk of his chin, "are called Zepheranthes. They come in lots of colors, but the orange ones in front of you are hybrids. They were named after an ancient god of the wind called Zephyrus. If you give them as a gift, they're supposed to  mean expectation or represent a fond caress..." He pauses, realizing it's probably the largest collection of words he's ever spoken to her in one go.

Shutting his mouth, embarrassed, he turns away before she can register the light flush slowly creeping up from under his shirt collar and cravat.

"I..." he struggles to save face, "It's just a hobby."

"I would never have expected this of you." The tone in her voice has him turning back towards her. Her face is turned down, studying the flowers in front of her. The late afternoon light filters into the humid room, the shiny pitch color of her hair reflecting it subtly as she tilts her head up to meet his gaze. "I think it's amazing."

And in that moment, he realizes he's never seen anyone not pale in comparison to his flowers surrounded by them like this, but she...she is just as radiant, just as full of life and strength, full of so much potential that, if only he could guide and nurture, would bloom into something even more breathtaking.

"Corporal?" He blinks, her voice jerking him from his thoughts. "Is it all right," she continues, "if...I mean, well..."

"Spit it out." The words have no real bite in them.

"May I take one with me?"

Take one...?

She suddenly blanches, and pull her hand away from the flowerbed, back towards her side.

"Never mind, that was inconsiderate of me. You worked hard to grow these and I come in here and-"

Ignoring her, he turns, briskly walking to a bed a few feet down the row, gently plucking an arching stalk from the warm earth and returns to her. From it, hangs a dozen rich violet-blue drops of petals.

"You can take this one."

He hands it to her and, astonished, eyes wide, she takes it gingerly, as if it is a precious, fragile thing she must preserve and a shock of ice-cold adrenaline shoots to the tips of his toes as their fingers brush in the exchange.

"T-thank you, Corporal," her voice is unsteady as if maybe...just maybe, he wasn't the only one. "May I ask what it's called...and what it means?"

"Bluebell," he mutters, trying to keep his voice even and his hands from sweating. "It... symbolizes gratitude and appreciation..." he stops himself suddenly wondering if she is reading into his words. She spares him by quickly picking up the abrupt silence and asking:

"Are all flowers associated with something?"

"Most are, yeah. Sentiments, wishes toward a person, occasions, even months have some flower associated with them." He  raises the book still clasped in one of his hands and offers it to her. "If you're really that interested in this stuff, I suggest at least paging through this."

She takes it dutifully, the color of the bluebell coming to stand beautifully next to the rich brown of the cover, her pale fingers clutching them like an adorning frame.

"Thank you, Sir. I will. I..." she hesitates, seeming to collect her words in order to properly convey what will next come out of her mouth, "I really appreciate you sharing this with me. I understand."

_I understand what it means._

He turns from her, heading towards the rack of tools against one of the walls.

"If that's it, Ackerman, you're free to leave."

"...Yes, Sir." He hears her turn to go, her footsteps on the concrete floor as she reaches the door, but stops her.

"Ackerman."

She pauses, and he sees her, hand nearly on the handle of the door, head angled back toward him inquisitively.

"When's your birthday?"

Surprised, she answers, "Actually, Sir, it's this next Monday. February 10th."

"February..." he mutters, a beginnings of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, "violets..."

"What was that, Sir?"

"Nothing. Dismissed, Ackerman."

Nodding, Mikasa opens the door and passes through it, trading places with a burst of cooler air, hand still clutching the flower and book, and then the door shuts, and he is alone again.

 

 

 

xxxxxxxxxxxx

 The knock comes that Monday, the 10th of February, the cold of winter still clutching at the small castle of the Recon Corps headquarters.

Almost snow-blind from her daily outdoor training, Mikasa lets out a sigh when she returns inside and is greeted by the dark muddy swirl of the shades of the castles brick - more flat and drab colors.

She can't wait for spring to be here.

She can't help but remember the beautiful myriad of Corporal Levi's greenhouse and part of her aches to be back there, the humid air finally nudging the ever-present chill from her fingertips, every color she's ever seen within arm's reach, just her and Levi alone and so close...

Flipping through the book he'd given her had kept her occupied late into the evening every night since then, learning the names and intricate meanings associated with the plethora of beautiful flowers, imagining worlds of scenarios in which each might need to be used.

Missing a page, however, and the jagged edge of the tear apparent between two others, she thinks he must have used this book a lot for it to be as worn as it is.

"Cadet Ackerman?"

A voice she doesn't know calls her name from outside the room.

"Coming," she replies as she strides to the door, pulling it open. As she expected, she doesn't know the man standing there - vaguely recognizes him from around the castle, but nothing more.

"Yes?"

"I was instructed to deliver this to you." The man holds out a white, rectangular box - like one that might hold jewelry. She reaches out her hand to take it, a little dazed.

"For me?"

The man glances down at the box again, then back up at her.

"You are Mikasa Ackerman, aren't you?"

"Yes."

"Then this is for you."

She retracts her arm, staring at the box, and she can now see, to one side of the dark purple ribbon slicing the box into fourths, her name is written in small, neat, cursive.

"Thank you."

"Of course," he replies, and turns to leave, letting the door swing shut behind him.

Turning, the box in her hand, so goes to sit on her bunk. Her pulse beginning to race faster and she holds her breath, pulling one end of the soft ribbon encircling the box and it slides loose of the knot easily, falling into her lap. Slowly, she lifts the lid from the box.

Inside, rests a vibrant, beautiful purple flower, resting on a lightly yellowed page that she immediately recognizes. The ripped page of the book lay beneath the flower, and she lifts it off to see the page beneath:

 

The box clatters to the floor, dragging with it the ribbon, and page has barely finished fluttering to the ground when she is already through the door, the violet clutched to her chest, sprinting toward the greenhouse.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> [fanfic/podfic blog](http://zoe-bug.tumblr.com/) | [personal](http://xiexiecaptain.tumblr.com/) | [twitter](https://twitter.com/xiexiecaptain)


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